What she saw next froze her in place. Instead of a peacefully resting Priya, the sheets beneath were marred by dark red stains—blood, unmistakable and alarming, spread in irregular patches near the center and edges. The stick slipped from Mrs. Sharma’s grip, clattering loudly onto the wooden floor. Her heart hammered against her ribs as a wave of dread washed over her. “This… this blood?” she whispered, her voice trembling. The room, which moments ago had seemed a symbol of laziness, now felt heavy with unspoken crisis.
Her eyes darted to Priya, who lay curled in a fetal position in the corner of the bed, her face deathly pale, lips cracked and dry. The young woman’s breathing was shallow, barely noticeable, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead despite the cool morning air. Mrs. Sharma’s anger evaporated instantly, replaced by a choking fear. “Amit!” she screamed, her voice breaking. “Amit, come quickly!” Ignoring the sharp pain shooting through her lower back, she rushed out of the room and down the stairs halfway before turning back, torn between fetching her son and staying with her daughter-in-law.
Amit burst into the room moments later, his hair disheveled from sleep, eyes wide with confusion. “What is it, Ma?” He stopped short at the sight of the bloodied sheets and his wife’s motionless form. Mrs. Sharma pointed with shaking hands. “What happened to your wife? Look at her!” She dropped to her knees beside the bed, gently touching Priya’s cold hand. “Priya… Priya, beta, open your eyes. Please.”
A faint moan escaped Priya’s lips. “Mom… I’m in so much pain,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, like a fragile thread. Amit tried to lift her carefully, but as he shifted her, fresh blood seeped from near her legs and waist area, staining his shirt. Mrs. Sharma gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. The remorse hit her like a physical blow. “I thought she was lazy,” she whispered hoarsely, tears welling up. “What did I know? Son, call an ambulance! Hurry!”
Amit’s hands trembled as he dialed the emergency number, his voice cracking as he explained the situation. They sat vigil beside Priya, Mrs. Sharma stroking her daughter-in-law’s hair and murmuring apologies mixed with prayers. “Hold on, beta. Help is coming.” The wait felt eternal, every minute stretching into agony. When the ambulance finally arrived, sirens piercing the quiet neighborhood, the paramedics moved swiftly, transferring Priya onto a stretcher and administering initial aid.
